


Breaking the Ice

by LMShnook



Series: Johnlock short stories [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, John feels the need to teach him, Johnlock - Freeform, Kissing, M/M, Sherlock doesn't know how to skate, Skating, Snowy Canadian vacation, excuse for snowy red-nosed kisses, filling a prompt, with a bit of a Cabin Pressure crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:21:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2125098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMShnook/pseuds/LMShnook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filling a prompt for my friend (who has yet to get an AO3 account) who requested John trying to teach Sherlock a sport.  So I thought skating would be a good fit for the boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking the Ice

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if there is actually an outdoor rink at the olympic oval in Calgary, but let's just say for the purposes and setting of this fic there is.

John was looking forward to a quiet night.  The sun was just sinking below the London skyline as he settled down into his chair, hot cup of earl grey in hand.  He didn’t bother turning on the telly, but instead picked up a book.  Outside the early January wind blew in little white flecks that danced toward the ground, only to quickly melt away due to the mild weather.  Even with the abnormal weather, John kept a fire going in the hearth.  It sustained the beautiful ambience in the room.  It was only a week after Christmas, and he and Sherlock (no, just John really) hand’t yet bothered to take down the decorations.  Christmas was John’s favourite time of the year, and he wanted to keep the feeling in the flat as long as possible.  Sherlock, on the other hand, loathed the holiday.  He would most definitely start complaining about the decorations as soon as he came home from…wherever he was.  So John took in the feeling of the room, the distant smell of poinsettias and mistletoe knowing he’d have to shove it all back into boxes and store it away, only to pull it back out in a years time with newfound excitement and fervour.

John nearly lost himself in the daydream, only to be pulled back to the here and now by Sherlock stumbling into the flat, hair mussed and slightly damp from the snow, and scarf hanging undone around his neck.

“John, are you busy?” he announced, draping his coat over a chair instead of using the coatrack.

“No, not particularly.” John answered, not bothering to look up from his book, “Where have you been?”

Sherlock ignored John’s question, and instead loomed above him taking his book out of his hands and tossing it onto the end table, “Pack your bags, John.  We’re going to Canada.”

John’s bewildered gaze followed Sherlock as he dashed off to his room.  It took John a moment, but he followed rattling off questions “Why are we going to Canada? When did we decide this?  How long are you are you expecting we be there?”

“All in due time, John.”  Sherlock sighed, and continued to lay out clothes next to his suitcase on his bed.  “Our flight leaves in five hours, though, I’d suggest you, too, begin packing.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated with the obscure instructions of his flatmate.  He wasn’t surprised though, he suspected Sherlock liked to see him confused and wondering.  John was just…annoyed.  He had _plans_ for the week, he had a _job_ dammit.  

And yet, John found himself calling the office not twenty minutes later explaining he had emergency business to attend to in Canada.

*****

Sherlock had just barely found the pair of them a last minute flight.  They were forced to hire a _very_ small charter firm that normally operated out of some place called Fitton, wherever _that_ was (Sherlock had never heard of it, and he memorized _every_ city in the United Kingdom).  Regardless, they boarded the sixteen-seat plane and settled in for the ten hour flight.

“Are you willing to fill me in now?” John asked Sherlock once the first officer finished the cabin address.

“We’re flying to Calgary, Alberta.  Somewhere in the vast Canadian prairies.” he reluctantly gave in.

John rolled his eyes, irritated by Sherlock’s aversion to details.  “And _why_ are we currently sitting in some rinky-dink cargo plane, that is practically _empty,_ flying to the middle of the Canadian prairies?”

“Calm down, John.  And technically it’s not the _middle_ of the Canadian prairies, that would be-” Sherlock stopped before the glare John was flashing his way killed him.  “An olympic speed skating prodigy was found dead in the locker room.  Foul play is suspected.”

“Okay, but why are _we_ going to investigate?  There’s a bloody ocean between London and Calgary.  That’s a bit inconvenient isn’t it?”

“For whatever reason, the famed hat detective and his blogger were summoned.  I never really asked for details.  It’s nice to get out of London out of your lungs once in a while though.”

John was about to call him out on his excuses, but was interrupted by the airline captain giving yet another cabin address, and quickly the plane took off along with ten hours of his life John would never get back.

*****

John barely had time to unpack before Sherlock whisked him away to the crime scene, the Olympic Oval, located in and amongst the university hub of Calgary. It was by far one of the most entertaining places they’d visited for a murder, John had always loved watching the olympics when he was young, especially the skating events.  Sherlock on the other hand…had never heard of the olympics.  Or at least claimed he hadn’t, one of the ‘deleted’ files, John assumed.

They were met by two police officers who explained the case: A would-be speed skating olympian, Calley Harding, was killed by a blow from a blunt instrument to the back of the head.  The prime suspect was the teammate who found her body, Bella Lamont.  The pair were rivals, always competing for the same spots, but Calley was the coach’s favourite.

Sherlock solved the case in record time.  He deduced it was the coach who killed Calley Harding, not her teammate.  Calley wanted to leave everything behind and go to university, and the coach didn’t approve of that.  

“That was a bit mundane, wasn’t it?” John commented as they walked through the centre.

Sherlock fixed a pair of gloves onto his hands, “Actually, John, I found it quite entertaining. You see-”

“Cut the act, Sherlock.  I could tell you were bored out of your mind.”

Sherlock sighed, his facade outed faster than he had solved the case, “If you must know, I needed to leave the country.  Mycroft is planning ungodly things for my birthday.  I needed an excuse not to be there.”

John smiled with triumph, “I thought he might have something to do with this.”

“Canada was an added bonus, though.” Sherlock added, “I’ve never been here, always wondered what it would be like.”

“And how are you liking it?”

“It’s cold.  Too cold.”

John laughed, “Well, why don’t we take advantage of this place while we’re here.  We could go skating!”

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks, “No.  Absolutely not.” he stated.

John grabbed his elbow and pulled him toward the skate rental desk, “Come on, it will be fun! I promise.”

“Your promises have no effect on whether or not I will enjoy the tedious activity.  I refuse.”

“Sherlock, what’s wrong?” John cooed.

Sherlock crossed his arms, mimicking the pouting posture of a six year old. “I don’t want to.” He declared, his voice growing ever stronger.

“Well, I’m going to.” John said, taking the skates under his arms, “I’ll get a pair for you, too, if you change your mind.”

Sherlock reluctantly followed John to the outdoor rink, still pouting as John tied his skates.  He kept the same stone cold expression as John skated laps, turning every so often to showcase his skill and enjoyment to his friend.  

“Sherlock, don’t be such a grump.  It’s just like walking, only on frozen ground.” John encouraged while he stopped for a break.

“Walking with knives instead of shoes.” He whined back.

“I thought you loved knives?”

“Not when they’re tied to my feet.”

Then suddenly, it clicked, “You don’t know _how_ to skate, do you?” John asked.

“That’s preposterous! Every kid learned to skate when they were young!” he retorted.

“Since when were you like “every kid”?”  John teased, which didn’t help Sherlock’s already foul mood.  “Come on, I’ll teach you how.”

Sherlock turned his gaze away, sticking his nose into the air like the spoiled brat he was, “I don’t want to learn.”

John rolled his eyes, “Sherlock, if you don’t get on the ice soon, I might just tell Mrs. Hudson about _why_ we are constantly out of milk.  That you’ve been growing a certain type of dangerous mould with it.”

Sherlock glared at him and grumbled something under his breath that John couldn’t hear, but he began to take off his shoes and put on his skates.  John grinned, blackmail always worked.

Sherlock hobbled onto the ice, his arms jetting to keep his balance.  He looked very much like a frightened cat, John thought.  

“Now be careful when you step onto the ice.” John warned, offering his hands for extra support.  Sherlock, proud git that he was, refused.

“I know, John.” he bleated.  Only as soon as his foot hit the frozen ground, his whole body collapsed with a thud.  John held back a giggle.

“I look like a fool!” Sherlock nearly shouted.

John heroically knelt down and pulled Sherlock back onto his two feet.  Sherlock let himself use John for support, putting his arm around John’s shoulder.

“Just slide your feet along.” John instructed, grabbing hold of Sherlock’s hands to pull him along.

Sherlock started to stiffly shuffle along, before tripping over his feet once again and falling headfirst into John’s chest.  John caught him this time, holding him in a sort of awkward hug.  This time John burst into laughter, which did nothing to amuse Sherlock.

“You’re too stiff, Sherlock.” John advised, “You need to loosen up a bit, like when you were teaching me how to dance.”

“But this is nothing like dancing!” he said, trying to get upright again.  

“Well, it’s not totally different.” John mused.  He swept Sherlock back onto his feet, and placed his left hand around Sherlock’s waist while holding his hand to the side.  

Sherlock nearly smiled back, amused to see John so eager to dance with him, even taking the initiative to lead. “You’ve remembered very well, John.” he complimented.

“You’re a great teacher.  Now let’s dance.”  John began, gliding with Sherlock across the ice to the beat of a waltz.  Sherlock slowly began to loosen up as a smile slowly began to spread across his mouth.  John began to hum the tune Sherlock had decided to practice their dancing to, trying to make it easier for them.

Their surroundings disappeared as the pair danced and turned gracefully across the ice.  They didn’t even notice the other skaters skate to the sidelines and observe their routine.  

As they neared the end of the song, John stopped abruptly, “Should we do the dip?”

“Do you feel ready?” Sherlock asked back.

John smiled, then proceeded to french dip his dance partner.  

“That was quite good.” Sherlock complimented.

Suddenly, they were brought back to the present by a round of applause from the other skaters.  Embarrassed, they both stood upright.  Sherlock, revelling in the attention, bowed politely, and John cautiously followed his lead.

Sherlock turned to face John, standing a bit closer now, and hugged him.  “Thank you, John.” he whispered, which brought the biggest smile to John’s face.

“Oh just kiss him already!” one of the more rowdy observers cheered.

Whether it was the snowflakes caught in Sherlock’s curls, or the bright shades of pink painted onto his nose and cheeks by the cold air, John felt drawn to him.  He could tell Sherlock felt the same as he began to apprehensively lean toward John.  John allowed him, and gave him a small peck on the lips.  Just enough to be decent, and yet leave hunger for more.  

The crowd once again cheered on.  

Sherlock and John smiled at one another, a shy and still loving smile, before leaning in again for another taste at one another.

And suddenly, skating became Sherlock’s favourite winter outdoor activity.

**Author's Note:**

> To my prompt recipient: I hope this suffices! I really liked writing it, thank you for helping me from getting bored! I hope you have a lovely time in Calgary <3


End file.
